


In Which Hawke Is Not Easily Surprised

by Scientia_Fantasia



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Canon Era, M/M, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-16 20:23:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3501629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scientia_Fantasia/pseuds/Scientia_Fantasia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke isn't sure why Fenris is so self-conscious about his body, but he absolutely wants him to know that his doubt is unfounded.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Hawke Is Not Easily Surprised

**Author's Note:**

> Please god let there be more trans Fenris fics
> 
> (warnings for this work: mentions of food & some talk abt pregnancy)

Fenris was not a shy man.

He didn’t blush at Isabela’s lewd comments, rather rebuffing them firmly or, occasionally, responding in turn. His hesitation at being affectionate with Hawke in the presence of others stemmed from something apart from coyness, and seemed to be becoming less and less of a problem. He didn’t avert his eyes when Hawke wandered around their bedroom in less clothing than was really decent.

Rather than turn away from the judging stares of others—of which there were plenty—he met their eyes and all but bared his teeth in challenge.

Fenris was proud. Fenris met his fears head on and dared them to take hold.

But Fenris—repeatedly, insistently, for Maker knows what reason—would not let Hawke undress him.

He would let the man unclasp his armor and pull his gauntlets away and strip him down to looking, for once, like he wasn’t ready to spring into battle at any moment, but the second Hawke’s hand reached the clasps on his tunic he would stop him, placing a gentle hand over Hawke’s, frowning. And, of course, that was the end of that.

Hawke wasn’t _bothered_ by this, per say. First and foremost, he was more than happy giving Fenris all the space in the world. If the elf felt most comfortable living in another city and communicating solely through written word, then by the Maker, Hawke would oblige him. But, as it was, this wasn’t the case, and they quickly discovered that there were all sorts of things two people could get up to, even when one of them was more comfortable staying fully dressed.

There was, however, a small part of Hawke that wondered. Was Fenris afraid of him? Afraid of being vulnerable—afraid of what Hawke may think about how he looked, somehow? If that was the case, he sorely wished to reassure him, even if the reassurance didn’t change anything about their situation. He wanted—needed—Fenris to know that there was nothing to be frightened of.

Hawke turned to him one night, staring at the back facing him, at the small strip of skin revealed by the clothes Fenris usually wore. The white lines of lyrium nearly glowed in the dim light. Hawke placed a hand on the elf’s shoulder, not wanting to startle him, and then shifted to run his thumb down the middle of his back.

Fenris hummed, halfway a growl coming from him. Hawke let out an amused huff of air.

“I’m never sure whether that means you’re enjoying yourself or I’m about to have a knife somewhere unpleasant,” he said, in question.

Fenris chuckled. “By all means,” he said, “continue.”

So he did, taking in what small areas of skin he could, from the small of Fenris’ back to the soft hairs at the base of his neck. And Fenris allowed this, seemed to be enjoying it, up until Hawke’s fingers slid under the fabric at Fenris’ shoulders and he realized, with some surprise, that there was another layer of clothing there.

Fenris turned around at this, pointedly facing his back away and frowning.

Hawke did his best to look apologetic. “I’m sorry,” he said, sincere even if he couldn’t help smiling, “Did I wander too far?”

Fenris grumbled in a way that Hawke had come to interpret as, “I’m mad at you, but you’re forgiven.”

“Right,” went Hawke. Then, again, “Sorry.”

Fenris rolled over, again facing away. Hawke wasn’t sure whether this was meant to be shunning or forgiveness.

He scooted slightly closer to him and again put a hand on Fenris’ back, lower than his shoulders, which seemed to be the problem area, as far as Hawke could tell.

Fenris didn’t react for a moment, but then reached around, taking Hawke’s wrist and pulling him closer. Hawke happily obliged, moving over and wrapping an arm around Fenris as the elf got comfortable against him.

And at that point, it would have probably been prudent to let sleeping elves lie, but…

“Fenris,” said Hawke, face against his shoulder.

“Hawke.”

“You know I…I don’t want to make you do anything you’re uncomfortable with.”

Fenris huffed. “Save your breath and say what’s on your mind.”

Well, there wasn’t much Hawke could do about that.

“Why won’t you let me undress you?” he asked. ”Is there something you’re afraid of?”

Fenris didn’t immediately jump out of bed and leave him, which was a good sign. He was, however, quiet for a while, until he finally answered; “I…might not look exactly how you expect me to.”

Hawke couldn’t help but laugh at that. “After all we’ve been through together, you think there’s something hiding under your clothes that could possibly surprise me?”

Fenris didn’t answer, and he didn’t laugh. Apparently, then, the answer was “yes.”

Hawke sighed, and pressed his forehead against the elf’s shoulder.

“As much as I think your hesitance is misplaced,” he said, “I won’t push this if you don’t want me to.”

All he got was another low hum in return, as cryptic as the first. Curiosity—and concern—was gnawing at Hawke’s brain, but there wasn’t much to do about it, was there?

Besides, he found it hard to be left wanting when Fenris was lying there in his arms, clothes be damned.

But, minutes later, when Hawke was drifting off to sleep, Fenris stirred, shifting in his arms to look at him. Hawke blinked a few times, confused.

“Turn away,” said Fenris.

“Sorry?”

“Turn away, and shut your eyes, and don’t look unless I say.”

Hawke blinked again.

“Please,” added Fenris. Hawke nodded, though still confused, and followed the instructions given.

He felt the mattress shift as Fenris got out of bed, and then the rustling of cloth, and something falling to the ground. He felt the elf’s gaze on his back, but he resisted his curiosity.

A few long seconds passed, and then Fenris crawled with uncharacteristic hesitancy to Hawke, wrapping an arm around him and settling against his back.

Fenris’ bare skin was cool against him, but comforting.

Furthermore, it seemed that he had a pair of breasts.

Huh. 

Hawke relaxed, and placed a hand over Fenris’.

“There,” he said, “this isn’t so bad now, is it?”

He could feel the elf’s rapid heartbeat, though nothing else of his demeanor betrayed his nerves.

Fenris simply buried his face in Hawke’s shoulder, and eventually, they fell asleep.

~~~

When Hawke woke up in the morning, Fenris wasn’t there.

He had a sense of momentary panic, despite having woken up to the same thing many times before, but considering their previous conversation—

He leaned over, and saw Fenris’ tunic still lying on the floor.

Well, Hawke was overreacting, then. Or, well, possibly underreacting, considering every option. But he was ever the optimist.

He got out of bed, and stretched, and ventured to don his robe, but discovered it was missing.

This morning was just full of oddities, wasn’t it.

Hawke wandered out into the rest of the estate, checking rooms as he went, and was rewarded when he found Fenris sitting at his kitchen table, wrapped in Hawke’s finery, one foot tucked underneath him.

Fenris looked over, and Hawke thought his heart may explode.

“Please let me hug you,” he said, grinning and walking over, arm held out. Fenris extended an arm in return, and Hawke wrapped his arms around him, burying his face in Fenris’ hair and sighing deeply.

“You look beautiful.”

Fenris huffed, amusement just barely evident.

“Particularly beautiful today?”

“Maybe,” Hawke said. He stood up, and looked over Fenris, who seemed to be very interested in a spot just above Hawke’s shoulder. “Maybe I just like seeing you in my clothes.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Hawke grinned, and grabbed some food, taking an apple to Fenris and sitting down next to him.

He busied himself with bread and jam, but felt the elf’s gaze on him, obviously sensing his curiosity.

“Erm,” went Hawke. Fenris raised an eyebrow at him, fiddling idly with the apple’s stem. “So…”

“Yes?”

Hawke leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table.

“I’m…not sure, if…or…”

He huffed, bowing his head to run a hand through his hair. He knew Fenris didn’t appreciate him stepping lightly around things like this, but where did one even start?

“Well, just for practicalities’ sake, er—can you—is…pregnancy? Something to be worried about?”

Fenris frowned, now running his thumb over the still whole piece of fruit in his hand. It looked like he would bruise it if he kept it up much longer.

“Yes,” he said.

Hawke’s heart leapt to his throat, suddenly the thought of children – _family_ —that much closer. But, no. There was something about Fenris’ expression that suppressed his joy.

“And that’s something we should do our best to avoid,” Hawke guessed.

“Yes,” was again the answer. But his tone was light, and he finally looked at Hawke, gaze level for a moment, before a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “For the time being.”

Hawke’s eyes went wide, then he blinked, and then broke out into a grin. “Really?”

Fenris made a vague grunt of agreement, trying to act as if Hawke’s smile wasn’t contagious. “I won’t make you any promises.”

“And I would never ask you to,” he said. “But…that you trust me enough to even consider…”

“Yes, yes,” went Fenris, only ever shying away from Hawke’s boundless expressions of affection, “Eat. Please.”

At that, Hawke decided to let the matter go.

…for the time being, of course.


End file.
